


La Petite Mort

by ceeker, Eureka234



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Awkward Cullen Rutherford, Bad Flirting, Bad Puns, Dragon Age Kink Meme, Dubious Consent, F/M, I'm Going to Hell, Multi, Not Suitable/Safe For Work, One Shot, Orlais (Dragon Age), POV Cullen Rutherford, Sexual Content, Situational Humiliation, Sorry Not Sorry, The Winter Palace (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:21:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22879387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceeker/pseuds/ceeker, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eureka234/pseuds/Eureka234
Summary: The Inquisition is removed from the Winter Palace. Only Cullen knows why.
Relationships: Cullen Rutherford/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 3





	La Petite Mort

**Author's Note:**

> Eureka234: I loved working together on this silly story with ceeker! We hope you enjoy it. This contains a number of OC cameos from my other stories. 
> 
> Trigger warning for dubious consent.

The gigantic doors slammed closed.

_Unbelievable._

The Inquisition had been locked out of the Winter Palace.

"What in the Maker's name was that?" Cassandra demanded. Her porcelain mask which covered the right half her face did nothing to conceal her petulance. She turned to the guard. "Let us back inside."

"I apologise, Seeker Pentaghast, but my job is to keep fools out, not let them back in," said the guard, taking an unnaturally long drag of his pipe. He had rested his helmet at his boots due to the humidity, it seemed, and had slick black hair and an impressive beard. It appeared to be oiled as some effort had been put in to make it look straight.

Cullen wiped his palms on his suit trousers. His neck was so sweaty someone could have poured a glass of water over his head. His white suit shirt had sweat patches. Hopefully the blue and silver waistcoat hid it.

Josephine pushed her veil above her head, so her face was visible behind a lace mask. Her eyes widened, wafting the smoke away. "Surely this was a misunderstanding, a catastrophic mistake. Allow me to speak to whoever lodged a complaint. I am certain I can offer condolences and an arrangement to allay their concerns."

Cullen cleared his throat. "There's no need to investigate, Ambassador. I take responsibility for what transpired… in there."

He glanced at the door like a portal to the Fade. Demons were inside, others and his. His transgression could not be named.

"What do you mean by you ‘take responsibility’?" Cassandra groused, rounding on him. "Are you trying to suggest you did something to cause this?"

"Erm… well, it is more something I _didn't_ do to cause it."

Josephine fawned over him. She held onto his arm, the skirt of her gold gown brushing his suit trousers. "You are nervous, Commander, in shock. Whatever it is, it must be false. You have only upkept the Inquisition's social standing and been a respectable guest."

 _Until now_ , he thought. "I appreciate the support, Ambassador, but…"

"They need to provide a reason for forcibly removing us," Cassandra proclaimed, storming to the gates. Her suit was white with silver around the hem. The fact it was still white this many hours into the peace talks was impressive. "What is the meaning of this?"

"If you wait instead of squabbling like children, I have no doubt you will find out," the guard drawled, his Orlesian accent thick. "The Empress does not even blow her nose without reason."

"Blow her nose," Cullen repeated, astounded. "We will wait then. How long do you think that will be?"

Heart pounding, he thought, _I hope they don't provide the real reason_.

"More importantly where is the Inquisitor?" Leliana asked. Her gown had alternating layers of mauve and sheer silver. Her metal mask partially extended into her hair as a headpiece.

"The last time we saw her was after Empress Celene's welcoming speech," Cullen remarked.

"It is possible the Inquisitor is still detained on urgent business," Josephine said.

"Possibly," Cullen agreed, with a heavy sigh.

Now he no longer heard the strings of the orchestra or the din of chatter, it seemed eerily quiet. The gentle splashing of the garden fountains in the distance was not a comfort. The air had a bite to it at this hour, and the sky was a dark blue, with the faintest hint of orange on the horizon.

"What are we supposed to do?" Cassandra demanded.

"It's a bit stupid for them to kick us out, but not the Inquisitor, isn't it?" Cullen said, giving an invidious glare at the guard.

"They will capture her," the guard assured them.

"If the Inquisitor doesn't trap the guards first," Leliana said with a satisfied smile.

"Precisely," Cassandra said, leaning against the gate.

The door opened only wide enough for an arm to slip through, and a messenger slipped a note to the guard. "The incident report by Mademoiselle Beatrice Decoste signed by Lady Couteau."

" _Merci beaucoup_ ," the guard said with a salute, “ _à bientôt._ ”

The door closed.

“That is the Dowager’s fifth dead husband’s only daughter,” Leliana stated, lacing her fingers in front of her in interest.

Cullen thought intensely to conceptualise a family tree with these details.

“The man who mysteriously tripped while observing the sights from the Grand Cathedral’s bell tower?” Josephine quipped.

“The same one,” Leliana confirmed. “Gerard Decoste.”

“I didn’t make the connection,” Cullen said. “After the second husband’s death I deeply questioned Lady Montillon’s luck.”

Cassandra turned, in an attempt to read over the guard's shoulder. "What does it say?"

The guard brandished it out in front of him, and he rapidly scanned its contents. "What is written here is not the real reason. It must be quite the scandal."

Cullen both felt relieved and apprehensive of this news. If it didn't say the reason, they didn't know. It also meant the onus would be put on him to explain.

"Empress Celene’s handmaidens would know the reason," Leliana said.

"Naturally," the guard replied.

"What did it say?" Cassandra repeated through gritted teeth. She swiped an arm to snatch it from the guard, who held it out of reach.

"Ambassador Montilyet, this is your area of expertise," the guard said. He handed it out and Josephine took it.

“Thank you, how may I address you, Ser…?”

“Ser Maël.”

“Thank you, Ser Maël.”

She read over it once and her eyebrows furrowed.

“I am at a loss of what occurred to justify our removal,” Josephine said, staring down at the notes, dumbfounded. “I am contemplating contesting the charges - politely, no doubt - unless they have another reason.”

“What reason did they provide, Josephine?” Cassandra quipped.

“Mademoiselle Decoste claimed the Commander of the Inquisition poured a drink down her blouse, stared down her dress at her chest, humiliating her in front of Celene's handmaidens, Mademoiselle Eppinette and Marquise Gladue,” Josephine said, blankly. “Ser Maël does not believe the story so neither do I.”

Everyone turned to Cullen.

“Was that story true?” Cassandra asked.

“The members of the War council have spoken, Commander,” Leliana said, smiling. “You must confess the truth now.”

Cullen gulped. “I don’t know if you _want_ the full story, Leliana.”

“Whyever not?” Josephine asked, appearing politely interested.

“Yes. I second that question,” Cassandra groused, placing a hand on her hip.

“Um…” Cullen stepped back. “Sweet Maker. The story is quite rude. Mademoiselle Decoste’s tale was a polite rendition of the… actual proceedings.”

The daunting expressions on their faces were interrupted by Morrigan stepped through the door.

"Fear not, or let fear seep into your bloated stomachs,” she proclaimed. “The Inquisitor has extricated herself from the scrutinous glares of the Empress' guards… all from confusing them, not violence."

It was said in such a way Cullen knew that wasn't the full story. Morrigan smirked in an all-knowing manner, the gold of her eyes beaming. Her magenta gown was stunning.

"The Inquisitor is safe?" Josephine exclaimed, looking relieved.

"For now,” Morrigan replied. “The Empress is safe which was the more important detail." She leered at the guard.

"Perhaps it is finally the right moment to learn of the proceedings," Josephine chimed in.

“Proceedings?” Morrigan said, ambling to lean against a wall adjacent the gate. “Embellishing a story would not have been insisted upon without an excellent reason. What’s more, the Empress’s guards would not have believed it unless it had a modicum of truth. Otherwise any old fool could have protested you stepped on their toes while dancing and that would be enough to be rid of you.” The Empress’s Occult advisor placed her hands on her hips. “We pray you tell us. Our heads will simply explode if you do not. What are you concealing so fervently? Did you vomit into one of these women’s laps?”

“Goodness. Although, that would be enough to warrant removal from the palace,” Josephine remarked, impressed, tucking the veil into her headpiece.

Cullen scratched his head. “You’re honestly not going to let it be?”

“No,” everyone responded.

“Andraste spare me.” The Commander turned pink and promptly avoided their eyes. “If you truly _must_ know, some of the women who were tormenting me near one of the balconies convinced me to accompany them to a separate room. I followed. To be honest, I have no idea why anymore. Uh, they used it as an opportunity to intensify their teasing.”

“Oh dear,” Josephine gasped, bringing her hand to her mouth.

“You _let_ them?” Leliana scoffed, poorly hiding a smirk. 

“Indeed. Twas foolish, and even more stupid,” Morrigan drawled. “Next you will tell us they stripped you naked and twirled you in a circle, chanting some human-concocted love charm that inflates their breasts to be larger than their egos. There is no such spell that would achieve that here, I assure you.”

“That… is not too far removed from what… from what… they did,” Cullen choked out.

“You must have been trying to kill us,” Cassandra chided.

“No. I’m afraid I wasn't,” Cullen said, raising a hand as if it would protect him from scrutiny. "Perhaps I slaughtered my own dignity."

“Now I am intrigued,” Josephine admitted, “and equally worried.”

“Did they have beautiful lingerie?” Leliana perked up, “Of Orlesian silk, or _velvet_. I would have loved to see it.”

“I am NOT going to painstakingly describe their underwear of choosing, Leliana,” Cullen retorted.

"Then what will you describe?" Cassandra asked.

"Indeed. Will you keep us more in the dark than the night sky?" Morrigan demanded.

It didn't look like the moon was in plain sight. They had a point. Even Ser Maël looked interested.

Cullen sighed and prayed to the Maker for mercy. "It started when…"

* * *

On the level above the ballroom, the Inquisition’s Commander stood against a wall. The string quartet playing melodies for the ball was easiest to hear from this spot. Here, he could also admire the decorations of flower arrangements between each stone pillar and curtain where the railing turned into a staircase. It was best to stay out of the way when there was no one specific he wished to speak to, and he didn’t want to provide a false impression he wanted to dance. The downside of this choice was that other guests found him. Three young women and one young man circled him. From their voices he presumed they were in their mid-thirties at most. They insisted he called them by first name. It was difficult to distinguish them by appearance as everything except their mouths was concealed by their masks (most unfortunately it wasn’t the other way around). Moreover, their hair wrapped in silk headscarves, and their gowns involving corsets and wide skirts looked as though they were made by the same designer. The demon women were Étienne, Beatrice and Odil - in that order left to right. The man’s name was easier to remember - Francis, yet the girls called him Franchot (with a silent ‘t’).

“Are you married, Commander?” Francis asked.

_What an intrusive question!_

“Not yet,” Cullen said, quickly inventing, “although I am already taken.”

“Still single then,” Francis muttered to the ladies. They giggled, covering their mouths.

“If your wife is not here, I do not think she would mind,” Étienne chimed in, running a hand down the side of his hip. Her few strands of hair that had escaped her headpiece were maroon.

“Can you stop?” Cullen asked, stepping to the right. “I do not want my bottom grabbed by everybody here. It _hurts_.”

“We’re sorry for hurting you, Commander,” Francis reached across and rubbed Cullen’s behind, as if to heal the injury. Cullen snatched his admirer’s arm and moved it.

“Why isn’t ‘no’ enough for you people?” he demanded.

“In Orlais ‘yes’ and ‘no’ sound almost exactly the same,” Étienne said. “Especially when we are so…excited. We cannot tell the difference in such a noisy room.”

_It’s not even crowded in here._

“But they’re not the same. They don’t sound anywhere near the same. More to the point, we are not speaking Orlesian.”

“You speak Orlesian with your eyes, Commander,” Beatrice said. She had softer features to her face and her lipstick was subtler. “You wear _ton coeur sur le visage_. It is the language of fools.”

“I understood two words of that,” Cullen said.

“You wear your heart on your face,” Odil translated. She was the shortest, and in Cullen’s opinion, the politest of the lot. 

“My face shows nothing but ‘no’,” Cullen explained, firmly, “and so does my mask.”

“Very well. We will stop,” Francis said, and Cullen thought he saw the man’s pecs flex slightly through his overshirt. For a man with such a strong frame, he certainly felt the need to compensate by being a pushy bastard.

“ _Oui, oui,_ ” Étienne agreed. They loosened their grasp and went silent.

“That’s much better,” Cullen said. He smiled. “Now where did the drinks waiter go?”

“On the other side of the hall, I believe,” Odil remarked. Her accent was the least harsh – maybe he was biased and simply liked the sound of her voice.

They waited, his admirers glancing around as if they were his servants, each wanting to race to serve him. 

Once he waved down a waiter and had some fruit sprinkled with coffee grinds, they spoke amicably for twenty minutes. He forgot how rude and pushy they had been.

"Commander, would you like us to help you find somewhere to sit down?" Odil asked, tentatively glancing down at her gown slippers. 

"Sit down?" It sounded ridiculous. He didn't need help with that. "There are ample numbers of chairs around."

"But they are all taken," Odil said.

“I have a seat that is not…” winked Francis.

"Those chairs hurt my back,” Cullen lied, unsure of where this was going.

"She meant somewhere in a _quiet room_ to sit down," Beatrice added.

"Erm…" Cullen looked to each of them in turn, logic rapidly leaving him.

"With a lock as well, Commander," Francis said, leaning in as though he was about to give Cullen a crate of golden statuettes.

“A wonderful idea, Franchot,” Étienne praised.

"An empty room," Beatrice corrected.

"Your legs must be so tired!" Odil exclaimed.

"And I could rub your shoulders,” Étienne suggested.

Their ravenous eyes could mean nothing else. This was an attempt to seduce him.

"Uh, I am not sure,” Cullen said. They had been more reasonable the past little while, so he would try being polite again. “It sounds appealing in theory alone."

"What is wrong with it?" Odil asked.

"Yes, why is resting so terrible?" Francis continued. 

"I am supposed to maintain a presence here, where others can see me. That's what is professional,” Cullen explained.

"You could say you are going to wash up," Beatrice said.

"It isn't reasonable to expect you to stand all night.” Francis shook his head.

“Franchot is right, Commander. What if you hurt yourself?" Étienne pined.

"Yes - what if you become injured, Commander?" Odil said.

"I am quite strong. Standing is good for me,” Cullen tried to deter them. “I find sitting down far worse."

"Then perhaps we can find you somewhere to lie down,” Étienne offered instead, tracing her fingers seductively along her mask.

Cullen met her brown eyes with scrutiny. _You’re the evil leader of this group, aren’t you? You corrupted Odil!_

"Ern, n-no,” he stuttered. “I am afraid I c-c-cannot accept... your k-kindness."

"Why not?" Beatrice asked.

"Do you not trust us, Commander?" Étienne demanded.

 _No,_ he thought. He forced a compliment. "You all seem… lovely."

_Maker spare me. Where is Leliana when you need her?_

Cullen looked around for her.

Some fingers trailed up his leg.

Cullen stepped back. "Stop."

“Sorry again.” Étienne said, holding her hand as if she had burned it on coals. “I couldn’t help myself.”

 _You are NOT sorry,_ Cullen thought.

"What if you could choose which one of us to have for yourself?" Beatrice quipped.

Cullen's felt his breath catch. The idea was annoyingly tempting - but only because he knew which one of the three women he would choose. "I can't be away from work for long."

"It doesn't have to take long," Beatrice assured him.

The next lot of bickering was so fast Cullen wasn’t sure who had said what.

"I can finish my fun in ten minutes, Commander."

"I did in less time once.”

"Me too!"

"Me _trois_."

"What is your best time?"

"On myself or others?"

"Others, no doubt."

“Wouldn’t the best time be the longest?”

“That would depend on…how long it is.”

"Maker's breath.” Cullen raised his hands to quieten them. “Enough. How about… you three directly circling me will do nicely - _not_ you." He pointed at his male admirer. "If you really can't help yourself, make yourself useful and guard the door, Franchot."

The man looked down in such a way he must have blushed behind the mask. "Anything for you, Commander. I am often positioned near the back door."

"Good man."

They wandered away. This was a decent outcome. He had removed Francis from the picture. Now he needed to entertain two of the ladies enough they would leave him alone, and he could spare time with the one he liked the most. After checking a few rooms in the guest wing, which were scattered with politely conversing guests, they found a spare bedroom. Maker knew who usually slept here. It was impeccably clean. The diamond patterned tiles were covered with dark blue and gold rug. A single painting of some noble or another lounging by the palace pool adorned the wall. An ocean blue four poster bed lay in the centre, with two recently oiled bedside drawers. Candlesticks on porcelain saucers provided a light source. Even with minimal décor, this was the nicest bedroom Cullen had ever seen. Or smelled. Maker, that sandalwood polish _. I must order some for my desk…_

“It is so hot in here,” Étienne bemoaned, pulling off her mask, unwrapping her headscarf and placing it on a dressing table by the door. Her eyelids were coloured with a dark brown powder. Her hair, looking closer to crimson in the candlelit room, was tied back. Several loose strands curled around her forehead and framed her chin. “Allow us to cool you down.”

The other two girls removed their masks as well and lined them neatly next to Étienne. Their smiles were calmer, less mischievous. All three guided him to the bed and pushed him down at the shoulders. Étienne was in the middle, unbuttoning his waistcoat. Beatrice on his left started to unbutton his suit shirt. Odil was on his right and simply held onto his arm, swinging it slightly as though it was the strap of a handbag. Cute.

Cullen’s heartbeat bashed harder against his chest with every button that was undone. All he could do was let his focus turn inwards, so it didn’t look like he was staring at one lady in particular. 

_I have three women in front of me right now,_ he repeated to himself. _I have multiple women here right now undressing me._

So far this was exciting, even if it was happening fast - but what about what happened _after_ they removed his clothes?

 _What do I want to happen at this moment?_ He tried to think at top speed, so he could make a definite decision of what was out of bounds. It was important that he was the one who determined this.

Beatrice pulled on his left sleeve, and Odil lightly shuffled his right sleeve back. Étienne removed his waistcoat. They paid no mind to it, and the waistcoat fell clumsily at the end of the bed.

“You’re so funny, Commander, so nervous,” Étienne said, resting her hands under his shirt and onto his bare shoulders. She swept her palms across and down his arms to remove it, and it fell onto the waistcoat, forming a haphazard pile. Then, she moved her palm down his chest.

* * *

"Why is the Inquisitor not here? We have been standing long enough!" Cullen complained. Throwing an arm down impatiently, he strolled away from the front gates, as though it was the source of his misery.

"I think you don't want to tell the rest of your story," Leliana said, following him.

"I am astounded you still wish to listen," Cullen admonished.

"I feel as though I should be disgusted, and yet, I can't turn away," Josephine admitted, wide eyed.

"I am too bored to stop listening," Cassandra said, flatly.

"There is more to the tale?" The guard asked.

Cullen wished there wasn't. He stormed to the front gardens of the Palace, seeking an ally around the exterior gates. Soon enough he found a row of Templars with the White Spire insignia on them – the shape of a white and blue diagonal sword much like the tower itself.

"Good evening. Is that Ser Alphonse?" Cullen asked.

A handful of the guards had their helmets off and were smoking. The Templar Cullen had addressed was one of the only men who weren't. He was extremely tall and his shortly cut dirty blond waves stuck to his neck from humidity.

"Yes, that's me. Do I know you, _monsieur_?" Alphonse asked, tilting his head. His accent of Orlesian and Marcher made him sound suspiciously like a male Leliana.

"That's the Commander of the Inquisition forces," said the soldier next to Alphonse.

"Yes, that's right," Cullen said, his confidence returning. "We hadn't yet been introduced, although some old friends of mine inside told me of where you were positioned."

"You're Cullen?" Alphonse said, slowly, without smiling. "It is a pleasure to put your beautiful face to the name."

"Erm, thank you," Cullen said, unsure of himself.

"This is Ser Noah," Alphonse said, pointing to his colleague. The other Templar gave a timid bow. In spite of clearly being of a similar age, he had more of a boyish face and not much sign of facial hair.

"Out of everyone in the Palace who should come to find me out here, why is it you?" Alphonse continued, frowning.

"I have a favour to ask, if you don't mind," Cullen said.

"I will need to hear the favour first, before I agree," Alphonse said, with a self-assured grin. He looked so complacent Cullen thought his knees might have briefly trembled.

"Uh, I was wondering if you could distract the guard in front of the entrance so my colleagues and I can re-enter the Palace."

"Distract him?" Alphonse asked, raising his eyebrows. "I am afraid I must refuse, Commander. The Empress instructed the guards to remain at our posts unless there was danger. I have to follow the hierarchy, you understand."

"But, uh, if you have to know… I got the Inquisition kicked out of the Palace," he muttered in a hiss, forcing the words through gritted teeth. "I don't think the reasoning was fair. Please help."

Alphonse did not appear phased. "How did you have the Inquisition removed from the Palace?"

"I was hoping you wouldn't ask that."

"You expected me to blindly accept? No, that is not like me, Commander.”

“I heard good things about you from my friends inside,” Cullen said. “I want to be able to say I agree with their compliments.”

Alphonse raised his eyebrows, then flicked off a beetle crawling up his gauntlet. “You’re lucky this is a rare time when flattery works on me. You do not have to tell anyone else your secret." Turning his head, he brought a hand to his ear. "If you whisper your shameful confession into my ear, I might decide to help you. All I ask is your complete transparency."

Cullen looked from Alphonse, Noah then the Inquisition team. It was better one person knowing than five.

"You tell no one."

"I will keep it to myself," Alphonse assured him, with a look that suggested, _come on, do you think I’m a gossip?_

Holding his breath, Cullen leaned in and muttered a two-sentence summary of the ordeal into the gap between his hands.

There was silence.

Alphonse chuckled. "Commander, I am not going to assist you after you did that."

Cullen’s face burned. "You said you would."

"I said I _might_ ," he corrected, straightening up. "You have caused a great tragedy so you must feel tragic for a moment."

Growling, Cullen dug his foot into the pavement in an attempt not to stomp it. "I just introduced myself to you, I only know you by association, and I gave the humiliating truth so you would help!"

" _Vraiment_? (Really?*) You miserable man." Alphonse falsified remorse before stepping forward. "I am joking. I will help. I only wished to see you upset for a second."

 _Your jestering was unheeded_ , Cullen thought. "Th-thank you."

Ser Alphonse waved some second-hand smoke away and glared at his teammates, swearing something in Orlesian.

"The best of luck, _frérot_ ," Ser Noah said with a salute.

Ser Alphonse lazily returned the gesture. "Commander, your friends should follow behind me. I have an idea. In doubt, follow your team’s direction and not me."

"Understood."

"We will try to climb into the back gardens to find the Inquisitor," Leliana said. "If we go through the front door we will only be removed again."

Cullen and Alphonse nodded. They strolled towards the gate.

"Ser, you have left your post," Ser Maël said. "Is action required?"

"None needed, Ser. It is Ser Alphonse. I was escorting these troublemakers back to you, to stop them from leaving the front gardens. They were esteemed Inquisition guests. I believe they may have damaged something and were trying to escape impending charges against them!"

The guard frowned. "That was a mistake, Ser Alphonse. These guests were ordered to leave by the Empress herself. The Ambassador should have the orders in her pocket."

"Ordered to leave? I gravely apologise. They did not tell me that. They are liars!" He glared at Cullen. "Dirty, dirty liars."

Feeling humiliated for being called 'dirty' Cullen looked away, scratching the back of his neck.

Ser Maël chuckled. "Dirty, _pas question_ , (no doubt about it*) although they were being upfront to me."

Alphonse smiled. " _Bien, bien._ They are honest. Very good. In that case if they were supposed to disappear, I will let them go." He moved his hands from being laced together, as if allowing a trapped butterfly to escape his grasp.

"Yes, let them leave," Ser Maël said, exhaling smoke dismissively into the sky.

Cullen glanced at Leliana. She gave a 'wait' look.

"Before I return to my post, _je n'ai plus des plantes à fumer, est-ce que vous pourriez me dépanner_?" Alphonse asked, moving two fingers to his mouth and away, as if smoking, stepping to a diagonal angle to the guard.

" _Votres amis Templars n'avons plus des plantes à fumer_?" The guard asked, crossing his arms.

Alphonse laughed. "They don't have _La Couronne D’or_. They have the cheap shit - _Bateau cuivre_ \- yetch."

The Guard glared. "Ah oui, _ce sont des conneries!_ ”

“The horrible vanilla flavour too.”

“Eurgh, _arrete - ça me rend malade_.”

Alphonse smiled. “You have superior taste, _monsieur_."

"It's Ser Maël."

Cullen glanced at Leliana again and she signalled that he could quietly edge around. While Cullen did, he listened to the conversation, even if most the Orlesian was lost on him. He heard Ser Maël rustle for something in a small pouch from his armour.

“What is your secret for finding this flavour?” Alphonse queried. “I have never seen it.”

“My family has boxes from Val Montaigne.”

“ _Magnifique_. May I try your pipe?”

“ _Quoi?_ Use your own pipe.”

“I do not want to waste one of your new boxes.”

A rummaging sound. “ _Non!_ Give that back.”

“ _Voilà_.”

“I don’t want it now.”

Despite them almost being around a corner, the heightened volume of the guards’ voices made it seem they were nearby.

“Yours tasted better than what I recall of this brand. It cannot only be the amrita vein.”

A grunt. “What are you suggesting, Ser Alphonse?”

“ _C’est n’importe quoi_.”

“ _Je veus une explanation_!”

“What is there to explain? I am envious if you have had a moment to escape this boring garden for a couple of minutes.”

“ _Casse-toi, salaud_!”

Alphonse sighed. “ _Tu es incroyablement impoli_.”

Orlesian swearing started. Cullen had crossed into the gardens and their voices finally vanished.

“The Inquisitor does not appear to be here, either,” Josephine whispered, crestfallen.

“We may hide in the corner while Cullen finishes his story,” Leliana said.

“Why is it so important?” Cullen demanded.

“My agents may be able to help,” she said, “but I can’t decide until I know absolutely everything. This is simply how blackmail works.”

He sighed. She did have a point. They huddled in a corner of the gardens, stepping over bloodshed and splintered bones, sitting on a nice, clean bench. “I need to correct a small detail…”

* * *

"You're so furry, Commander," Étienne said, running her hands down his bare chest.

 _Furry?_ He thought, bewildered. "I think you'll find I am not. It is a trick of the light."

"Some Orlesians like to shave everything," she continued, her hand resting on the crotch of his suit trousers.

Cullen tried not to gag at the idea. "P-Perish the thought!" He stammered. _Maker, my mind wanders enough when shaving my face..._

It was like his mind had passed a threshold of 'too much sexy in the room at once' and his body had broken. Even concealed by clothes, this was unacceptable.

 _Come on,_ he wanted to hiss at his penis, maybe even slap it. It must have gotten confused. _This is meant to be a moment to display my prowess, not undeniable failure! Why do you hate me?_

His penis didn't answer him. It rarely ever did.

Beatrice giggled. "Are you nervous, Commander?"

"No. I mean, yes. I am terribly worked up. I suppose I should say 'worked down' instead?"

"No need to be so embarrassed, you handsome boy," Beatrice said, touching his wrist. "It happens to the best of us. I know how to help you."

Beatrice stood up and walked behind him and massaged his scalp. Cullen moaned in relief.

"That _is_ good," he breathed.

Odil followed her lead and caressed his legs like a cat playing with yarn. Who needed sex anyway when he could be pampered like this?

Odil trailed kisses up his arm. Cullen skipped ahead a step or two and pulled her into a deep kiss. The other girls giggled. Beatrice kissed his leg and Étienne kissed roughly where the shaft of his penis was over his clothes. It had stiffened since a few moments ago but was not as solid as most sex acts would require. His knees shuddered.

"It is working!" Beatrice called, clapping delighted.

"Let me taste him," Étienne said, her fingers latching onto his belt. 

"Why you?” Beatrice demanded, stopping her massage of his shoulders.

"We take in turns?" Odil suggested.

“That sounds perfectly reasonable,” Cullen said, his voice pitching at an odd moment.

Odil giggled, covering her mouth.

The amount of stimulation was overwhelming in a counterproductive sense. The more noise there was, his manhood shied away. He felt his foreskin shrivel below him.

"Ladies!" He ordered. "That sounds incredible, but Maker help you. Whatever you do, do it quietly. I can't concentrate."

Stunned silence.

"Whatever you like, Commander."

Cullen closed his eyes.

_Are their accents doing this to me? No. It would be a travesty._

Though he tried to think of sexy things, he struggled. His mind wandered to hard phallic symbols- trees, swords… neutral ideas. _Sandalwood._ Focusing on the fingers massaging his scalp, he inhaled sharply as his trousers and smalls were pulled down in a single movement.

The eyes of the three girls went wide in surprise. He was certain he had made the same expression when he tried one of Sera’s home baked cookies in a War Council meeting.

“ _Ça, alors_!” Étienne praised, moving her palm around his thigh to his groin. “You did not tell us you were hiding that _monster_ under there.”

“Erm, I’ve never thought of it as a monster, myself,” Cullen replied, thinking bitterly, _except when it doesn’t work._

Beatrice giggled, operatically leaned back on the floor, and placed a hand on her forehead. “I wish I could have some wine with this baguette.”

Étienne guffawed and clapped her hands together. “White wine, no less.”

They shrieked or giggled. Maybe both.

Cullen felt his face might catch fire. He peered meekly up at Odil, who gave an encouraging smile. “I think you have a lovely body, Commander. I do not need wine to enjoy myself.”

“Thank you,” he replied, _you beautiful, sane lady._

Odil kissed him again. His heart raced. Sweat covered his body. He gently gripped onto her scalp and moaned into her mouth. She made a timid hum of approval in return.

Judging by the moving spots of wetness, two tongues were traveling up his penis at once. After a couple of repetitions of this, someone touched one of his nipples. Not really thinking, only knowing he hated anything to do with that part of his body, he slapped the hand away.

"Not that. Sweet Andraste. I am so sorry!” Cullen struggled to say, his eyelids snapping open. “It was a reflex."

"You may aim your reflexes in more interesting places, Commander," Étienne said, with a feral grin.

Unsure what she meant, Cullen said, "Uh, no, thank you."

_I seriously hate you the most out of the girls in this room. You should be on your hands and knees, thanking me for my generosity in letting you touch me!_

A giggle.

"Shhhh!"

" _Oui, oui, tais toi!_ Commander said quiet."

He groaned as a mouth covered his length and moved in a rhythm. This went on for a glorious minute before the ladies swapped places.

"Do you want to have...intercourse with one of us, Commander?" Odil suggested, glancing down at the skirt of her dress.

"In his tongue it is 'fuck'. Don't be so stupid," Étienne snapped.

 _No, this is fine,_ Cullen thought. "I am undecided."

"Don't ask that,” Beatrice moaned, rounding her shoulders. “It's not fair unless we can all have time with him like that!"

"Commander, would you like to have each of us, one at a time?"

"Erm, no, surprisingly. I don't wish for you ladies to get in a cat fight."

_Having sex with ALL of you sounds like too much work._

Étienne grinned “Oh, I think you would like to see our _chattes_ getting acquainted with each other, would you not?”

“Étienne, _c’est dégueu!”_ Beatrice chided.

"We won't fight if we all have a feel of you."

"It's true!"

"Maker's breath," Cullen sighed. "I… can try, but I..." _I will pray to Andraste that I survive._

Giggling. They couldn't have disliked the response.

He met Odil’s regard, who remained patient and taciturn. She seemed like the kindest of them. Likely, Étienne had bullied her into harassing him. This is just how groups of girls worked - and one troublesome man. She coyly glanced away. “Me first, Commander?”

“Um…” _You should go last, I like you the most so I would prefer to lose my inhibitions around you._ Still, he didn’t want to admit this. “If you wish, Odil.”

This was just like visiting the Blooming Rose in Kirkwall. It didn’t matter that others could probably hear him… or see him?

“Which way?” she asked, hesitant, peering down slightly. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

 _I knew it. You’re nice,_ Cullen thought, smiling. “Don’t worry about me, Odil. Whatever you enjoy will make me very happy.”

The other two ladies sat down on the rug in front of the bed and removed their high heels and stockings. In his peripheral vision they helped each other undo their corsets at frightening, near inhuman speed.

“Oh.” Odil gave an endearing little smile, and lightly fiddled with her skirt. “I heard a lot about your achievements, Commander, although not of your kindness.”

“Hurry up, Odil! We’re getting cold!” Étienne groaned, who was now down to her lingerie.

“Stop it, Étienne,” Beatrice hit her lightly on the arm. She had taken everything off except her skirt and did not care to cover her pink nipples.

“Yes, please stop rushing us or I will send you outside with Francis,” Cullen admonished. 

“Franchot?” Étienne asked, gaping. “But he will want to take my place.”

“You all bullied me in here. I’m making the rules!” Cullen exclaimed. Now he had power over them, because they wanted sex so badly and they weren’t deranged and malicious enough to take his body by force.

“I humbly apologise,” Beatrice said, looking down. She was sensible. 

Étienne appeared dumbstruck. Her pupils were like pinpricks.

A pair of toes lightly pressed against Cullen’s chest. “I am comfortable here, Commander.”

Odil. She had prodded him. In the time he had been arguing with the other ladies she had undressed silently. Her body was quite lovely, with equally rounded breasts and hips. She was laying on her side on the bed, as if curled up and ready to sleep. It was exciting merely watching her relaxed, naked form.

“Perfect.” Taking a moment to move his trousers and smalls from around his ankles, Odil prepared her body for him. Some carefully placed kisses appeared to do the trick for her. Balancing on his knees on the end of the bed, he held onto either side of her hips and carefully guided his hardened cock inside her. As she was apparently nervous, it took half a minute for it to glide appropriately for the task. It had been far too long since he had done this with anybody, so the Commander had trouble keeping himself composed.

 _I hope to Andraste I haven’t made some ridiculous expression,_ he thought, mildly worried. The other two girls did not comment. He heard their footsteps and faint whispers for a few moments, until his focus was entirely on the woman in front of him. 

Odil was immensely quiet, although her eyelids fluttered each time their hips met, and she bit her lip. The further he pressed inside; she began to extend her neck. While her gaze was on the opposite wall, she pushed back against his hips. Her deepened breath and droplets of sweat on her face was indicative of pleasure. It was so enticing he forgot for a blissful few seconds he was surrounded by two others. 

“I think she is enjoying it,” Beatrice remarked.

“Good. It’s not just me who thought so,” Cullen replied, breathless.

Odil gave a small smile and her regard met his briefly. She appeared to nod, although it was lost in how she was moving her hips. Her cervix was short so while he could not push himself all the way inside, what was inside was saturated in her fluid.

“When were you thinking of swapping over, Commander?” Étienne wondered.

 _Probably now,_ Cullen thought, as he didn’t want to orgasm inside this stranger, as lovely as she was. He pulled himself out and took a moment to steady himself. He felt dizzy and strange.

“Thank you, Commander,” Odil said with a wide smile, lightly closing her eyes.

“You’re welcome,” Cullen said, genuinely meaning the words.

“Me next. I’m too cold,” Étienne said, crawling over. 

“Like Odil, please make yourself comfortable,” Cullen said.

Étienne laughed. “I was thinking about it the entire time you were with Odil.”

Cullen hated her so much he thought he could have spat on her. That, sadly, was a bad idea. His eyes widened as Étienne sat over her ankles and waved what looked like a wooden cane with a large feather on the end.

“Where did you get that?” Cullen asked, tilting his head to the side to dodge it.

“Étienne and I found it in the drawer!” Beatrice proclaimed, delighted.

“Relax, Commander,” Étienne said. “Someone as handsome and successful as you must be very experienced.”

 _I’m probably the least experienced man of my stature you will ever meet,_ Cullen thought. “That’s humbling, but unnecessary.”

She laid on her back and lifted her legs to her chest. Her knees could have touched her face she was so flexible.

“Bride of the Maker,” Cullen gasped.

Already he could tell this was going to be completely different. Étienne had a fieriness about her that was honestly terrifying. It didn’t help that she was generally a scary woman, the sort of bitch who would bully him when he trained at Kinloch Hold. She pulled his wrist onto her calf.

“You can push down. I like giving you a lot of space to move around,” she said, eyes gleaming.

It was a good thing he found her the most repulsive of the three because he did not want his sperm traveling anywhere near her. Her body wasn’t attractive to him either. She was scarily thin and her ribcage was somewhat visible nearest to her waist. She turned out to be extremely noisy which was irritating as well - although that might have been because he despised her. Looking over at Odil resting when Cullen could, he used more force with Étienne but his ears were starting to ring. Squirming, he resisted a sudden burst of giggling when she brushed the feather along his buttocks.

“I have never been this ticklish in my life,” Cullen remarked, amazed at himself. “Not – please not so low.”

Étienne cackled and circled the feather around the small of his back. “I know what it is you want, Commander.”

In the shock of what happened next Cullen knocked his teeth against one of Étienne’s legs.

“Aie,” Beatrice gasped.

“Just because Francis grabbed my bottom does not mean you have the right to stick anything up it!” he roared.

There was a thump sound. Beatrice appeared to have stuffed her arm against her mouth in an attempt not to laugh and was curled up on the floor. Even Odil giggled a little from her place against the pillows.

Étienne smiled wider, though removed her hands to a more sensible place. “I assumed wrongly. I apologise.”

_You think that’ll be a good story to tell your friends over wine and cake at your next ball?_

_Of course, she would. She’s a demon._

There was the slightest muffled snigger from outside the door. Francis heard him yell.

“For Maker’s sake,” Cullen sighed. He wiped his brow. 

It was possible he was going limp inside her. Abruptly he pushed her away and almost knocked her to one side like a stack of cards. "Please swap over. No excuses."

Only Beatrice was left. She wasn’t too bad, he supposed. She positioned herself so her bottom was in the air and she was facing away from him. Sex with her was on par with Odil, physically speaking.

He reached the point where he could almost orgasm, but his body had hit a metaphorical wall.

“Are you having trouble, Commander?” Odil asked.

“Uh, a little.”

This was an absolute nightmare.

"Can we help?" Étienne asked.

"Please tell us what to do," Odil suggested, sitting by him like a moral support person for a court hearing. 

"Yes, please teach us to be better lovers for you,” Beatrice said.

"Erm… I don't think it is about better," Cullen replied, cautiously.

_It is about closing your Maker cursed mouths so I can concentrate!_

“How about you turn away from me?” He suggested. “I think my focus is becoming scattered.”

“We can do that!”

He watched Odil, thinking about her instead. It seemed they wanted him to finish.

“I think I need to do this myself,” he said, pushing himself out of her and replacing the space inside her with his fingers. He used his other hand to generate friction on himself. The fingers inside Beatrice was losing momentum so Beatrice moved against him. Her sounds were subtle although somewhat alluring.

But not arousing enough.

_This is so embarrassing. How do I make this end?_

_Women know all about pretending to finish the deed before they are finished_ , he thought. He glanced around. They weren’t looking. Perhaps he could do this. He gathered the small amount of fluid that had accumulated around his foreskin, brought it close to his face and gently pushed a wad of saliva onto it. Then Imitating to the best of his ability the sound he would make, without overdoing it, he tensed his muscles in a rhythmic manner.

“Was that fun?” Beatrice asked.

“Yes,” Cullen sighed, still faking exhaustion. “Thank you.”

“I’m so pleased to hear that,” Odil said.

“I thought I would feel some splatter onto me,” Beatrice admitted.

“I, uh, tried to catch it, although… keep looking away,” Cullen said, and he allowed the saliva and fluid to drip onto Beatrice’s back. “I need to find a towel. I am so sorry.”

The woman giggled, reaching behind her like to dab her fingers into a pot of paint, then she paused, “Why is it so… thin?”

“Uh, it is usually like that,” Cullen said, tentatively. “Lyrium, you see.”

Beatrice turned around and her fingers picked at the liquid now falling down her back. "Fereldan pig! How dare you spit on my back! Disgusting! Why are treating me like one of your dogs?"

 _How do you think we treat our Mabari?_ Cullen thought, half insulted, half terrified.

“I, uh, told you I tried to catch it.”

“It was from your mouth! I am not that foolish,” Beatrice retorted. Tears filled her eyes. “I hate men who cannot aim or clean their own mess. My body is not there to be covered in saliva. I have never felt so humiliated.”

 _I wish Étienne was the one who was being humiliated,_ Cullen thought.

"Commander, if that was your fetish, why didn't you say so?” Étienne continued, sounding thrilled. “I know Mademoiselle Paulette loves it. She thought you were too proper and dull for such games."

 _I am proper and dull_ , Cullen thought, wondering if this made him a bad person. He grabbed his clothes and scuttled away before Beatrice could hit him. “Let me find you a towel!”

“Cleaning it will not remove the stain on my heart!” Beatrice sobbed, eyes red. “I will not stand for this.”

In a cursory manner the woman rushed to her belongings on the floor and began to get dressed. Odil picked up her clothes and shot Cullen a glance as she left the room. _Disappointment, or Sympathy?_

_…Maker._

* * *

The story got out about what happened. Cullen’s suspected Leliana was to blame – she was the gossiping type. Then again, the uproar about the ‘fake reason’ for being removed would have travelled. Although he wanted to believe in their dwindling good-will Odil, Étienne and Francis could have easily talked about it to others. One evening in a tavern in Lydes on the way back to Skyhold, some Inquisition members provided support.

“It is a routine occurrence for men of my persuasion in Tevinter,” Dorian said. “If Bull was audacious enough to perform that trick, he would need to drink an entire gullet worth of sweetened milk to convince anyone.”

“Hey, good for the skin,” interjected Bull.

"That is not a picture I wanted or needed," Cullen said, drily. He had finished his third drink and could use five more.

"Congratulations, Curly, you've become the hero of my next book," Varric said.

"Tragic hero," Cassandra corrected. “Now I know the truth I am curious what spin you put on the story.”

“I liked the feather duster,” said Cole. “Feathers are soft.”

“That’s stupid. Slobber-knobber Cully-Wully. Did the duster replace the pole that’s usually up there, or did ya manage ta fit both up your arse?” Sera cackled.

_HNNNNNG._

“I think the most important lesson to be learned,” the Inquisitor talked over the top of Sera, “is that in Orlais, it’s truly salival of the fittest.”

**Author's Note:**

> For anyone curious on the Orlesian dialogue at the gate, here is the translation: 
> 
> I'm out of herbs to smoke. Would you please be able give me some?  
> Your Templar friends are out of herbs to smoke too?  
> Ah right, that’s some bullshit.  
> Urg, stop, the thought is making me sick.  
> It's nonsense  
> I want an explanation!  
> Piss off, bastard  
> You are unbelievably impolite


End file.
